NOTHING has made me want a drink more than raising 2 young children in New York City
Let's take yesterday for example.
In the morning, my husband and I strolled our oldest to preschool. He started a week ago. The first week was a wonderful success. He seemed to really like it, having very few tears and lots of smiles. When we got to the door of the school yesterday, he got out of his stroller, shaking his head and waving his hands, saying, "no, no, no..." Then came the saddest cry I had ever heard in my life accompanied by a perfectly turned down lip. I thought my heart was going to split open. Of course, he was fine 5 minutes later, but I thought I was abandoning my child. I took a long stroll in the park, checking my phone every 2 minutes in case the school called to say,"You must pick up your very sad child. He is inconsolable because you are a terrible mom." My phone, thankfully, did not ring. Then came time for pick-up. He was sitting at his little table with his little friends eating his little lunch when I opened the door to his little class room. Happy to see me, he ran into my arms saying,"Mommmmmaaaaaa!" I thought to myself, "This. This right here is the best feeling imaginable. I am needed, wanted, and completely loved." Cut to:
5 minutes later when a demon has possessed both of my children and they are screaming louder than the construction on our busy NYC avenue. I got head turns and stares for 5 city blocks from the Gucci bag toting mom's with maids while I held one pissed off toddler by the hand because he wanted to walk even though we had the double stroller containing the other sobbing child. This didn't keep the taxi driver from cutting us off or my mouth from letting him know how I felt about it. I thought someone was going to call Child Services. The minutes it took me to get home felt like hours, but the one thing that kept me moving was knowing that nap time was right around the corner.
Yeah, right.
NO nap for either child.
There were tears because I gave him juice instead of milk, then because I gave him milk instead of juice. He cried because I wouldn't let him outside without his shoes, then when we got the shoes on, he refused to walk out the door. The baby is in a stage where he hasn't figured out how to crawl but desperately wants to so he cries. He cries a lot.
Thank goodness we have made Mondays "date nights". Our Broadway dancing babysitter has the night off from her regular high-kicking gig and chooses (God love her soul) to spend it with our family. I could have kissed her as I bolted out the door and ran to my husband's side at a table at our corner bistro. The sun was setting, casting shades of gold through the concrete landscape. The temperature was perfect, a cool evening warmed by a heat lamp. I flopped down in the chair, glazed wild eyes staring at my husband.
He looked scared. "You ok?"
And I thought to myself as I stared at my husband's martini glass, "just for a minute as this golden light hits my face and no one is crying, I would like to feel my shoulders move down from ears, my teeth to unclench, my stomach to warm as I sipped a glass of wine. Maybe I could quiet the "Perfect Mommy" voice in my head. Ah, just for a minute."
"I'll have a cranberry juice, thanks."
I am jealous of those mommies that get to "celebrate" bed time with a toast or two. This is a hard job and I would like to congratulate myself with a cocktail.
I mean, are all of these mommies actually hammered? How do they all get through the day?
I had a wonderful evening with my hubby and came home to bathed, tired babies. The preschooler fell asleep an hour earlier than his normal bedtime which gave me even more time to relax.
Without a drink.
A perfect memory of the screams and sadness, the kisses and love.
I'm sober 12 years. I'm a mom. I'm a sober mom.
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